


Results of a weak mind

by Zingymabob



Series: AU Tales from Dragon Age [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood Magic, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Forced Pregnancy, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-05-06
Packaged: 2018-05-19 18:38:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5977042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zingymabob/pseuds/Zingymabob
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian's father didn't need to permanently change him, he just needed to change him long enough to get what he wanted. An heir. When Dorian wakes up one day to find a young woman crying in the corner of his room and broken memories of blood magic and abuse, he does the only thing that he can think of and runs away. But the consequence of that night is something he can't run away from forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bad Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Not yet edited, so sorry for any mistakes. Also please take note of the tags, and I will add to them as the story progresses

It was this dream again Dorian thinks in horror as he sits up in the messed up bed of his old bedroom. He should be used to it by now, waking up to the stench of blood, sweat, and sex and the feeling of bile rising up in his chest. Everything was so painfully real, not even the fade could recreate something so accurately. Everything was identical to that one morning, from the vintage of the brandy on his desk by the window to the arrangement of the clouds in the sky that were visible out of the large bay window. It is all so real that no matter how many times he convinces himself that it is a dream, it still manages to swallow him up, all the achingly familiar pain and guilt blurring the line between dream and reality.

Dream Dorian is in control and he quickly untangles himself from the sheets, his feet stumbling as they try to get a footing on the cold, well-polished floorboards. There is a large pool of crimson blood in the middle of the floor by the door and Dorian looks down in horror at his clothes which seem to be covered in the dried remnants of the same blood. His legs shake beneath him as he makes his way across the floor, the floor creaking beneath him with each footstep. What has happened here? Of course, he knows, but dream Dorian doesn't. He moves towards his desk, leaning heavily against the wooden surface as he tries to stop his limbs from shaking, and that is when he hears it; The high-pitched whimpering coming from the corner which is obscured from view by his wardrobe. Waking Dorian already knows what he will find and he begs dream Dorian not to go and inspect, but dream Dorian ignores him as he always does, and moves clumsily forward.

“Please.” He hears a female voice sob as his foot catches on another squeaky floorboard.

“It’s okay.” Dream Dorian says, his voice hoarse and quiet. He hears a panicked scrabbling of hands and feet against the floor and sees a woman's foot slide out from behind the wardrobe as it fails to gain purchase on the slippery wooden surface.

“Please.” The voice sobs desperately.

Dorian stops his approach as the sound of the terrified female voice sends an unwanted rush of hot blood towards his groin, he hears more scrambling and he has to grit his teeth to prevent the growl which is forming in the back of his throat. Dorian panics as Dream Dorian reaches the wardrobe and looks into the corner to see a petite brunette haired woman with tears streaming down her face. She always looks so hauntingly terrified, and all because of him.

The young woman looks up at him, her bright brown eyes wide in fear and she lets out another weak whimper. Her body is dotted with bruises, scratches cover her arms and more become visible on her torso as she pushes herself desperately against the wall. Dream Dorian spins around terrified, expecting to see the monster which is causing the poor woman to cower in fright. Instead, he catches a glance of his own reflection in the nearby mirror and almost doesn't recognise himself. His hair is unkempt, falling damply over his face exaggerating the dark shadows of his eyes. His clothes are partially torn and every muscle in his body is shaking with the barely contained aggression he can feel coursing through his veins. Dream Dorian hasn't yet realised that he is the monster, but he knows something is very wrong.

He turns his focus back on the young woman, watching helplessly as she clutches at a sheet spotted with blood, trying desperately to cover her evidently naked torso. She looks up at him with a look of such terror that Dorian wouldn't be surprised if he turned around to find a demon of fear breathing down his neck. He turns again, but there is nothing. Nothing but his own unrecognisable reflection. 

He holds a hand up in an attempt to show the woman that he means no harm, but her eyes widen in further terror and she shrinks away from him and continues to sob. Dorian feels ashamed as a fresh pulse of desire moves through his veins like mage fire and he thanks the maker that he has just enough control to stop himself from tearing the sheet from her shaking grip and taking her up against the wall. What is going on? He holds back another growl as he waits for her to stop squirming before he takes another tentative step towards her.

She flinches as he places a hand on her arm.

“This is Sophia.” A soft voice whispers in his ear. “She is a talented young mage from the circle of Perivantium.” Dorian's eyes flick over the young woman, why was she sat quivering on his bedroom floor, what had happened? “Meet your new breeder Dorian.” Dorian's eyes widen in shock as his mother's voice whispers in his ear, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand up. He jumps and spins around to see nothing but an empty room. He turns back to face the young woman, Sophia he is guessing, but when he turns back around he is standing in the doorway to his room. Leather bindings dig into his wrists, the fabric biting as he tries to yank himself free of these new ties. hand pushes him firmly through the doorway. On the neatly made bed sits the same young woman who was moments ago sat quivering in the corner by the wardrobe.

"Why are you doing this?" A voice he recognises as his own calls out, and a hand pushes him firmly through the doorway. His eyes scan the room in panic. On the neatly made bed sits the same young woman who was moments ago sat quivering in the corner by the wardrobe.

Dorian tries to shout out, telling her to run but a gag over his mouth sends a jolt of electricity through his body, causing him to crash onto his knees. His mother is stood to his side and he looks up at her with a silent plea in his eyes but she ignores him, choosing instead to give him an empty smile before moving aside to make way for his father who enters his field of vision dragging a slave behind him.

“No!” Dream Dorian screams, his vision flickering between two different scenes as the memories from the previous night begin to flood back. He is back crouched in front of the young woman, his scream startling her and she brings her bare legs up to her chest in an attempt to create even more distance between herself and Dorian.

He looks at her in horror and guilt as he remembers the sight of blood spilling onto the wooden floorboards as his father chants something ancient, winding the spilled blood around his body, the heat seeping through his clothes making him feel dirty and used. He remembers yelling until he was hoarse, begging his father to stop but it makes no difference. He’d used blood magic. His father had resorted to blood magic.

He stumbles away from the young woman in horror as he remembers her screams as he had held her frame against him, not caring that she was in pain as pure carnal desire overwhelmed his body. He had torn her clothes from her, painting her body with the marks of his fingers and teeth before he took her again and again. Not listening as her screams became broken sobs and eventually she just fell quiet, unable to escape from his lust fuelled grip.

“I-“ Dorian stutters through broken breaths as tears burn his eyes. He crawls further away from her as it finally dawns on him what he has done. No. What his father has made him do? “I am so sorry.” He says weakly as bile begins to rise in the pit of his stomach at the memory of her terrified eyes and hoarse cries of pain.

Dorian scrambles to his feet trying to blink away the horrifying images that are burned into his brain. He grabs blindly at his clothes, his hands fumbling as he struggles to secure the broken buttons and buckles and he gives up, stumbling into the nearby bathroom and warding it with a flick of his wrist. What had he done to the poor woman? His hands shake as he attempts to sort his hair, feeling a fresh wave of horror as he looks at himself in the mirror, noticing that his pupils are blown wide with the arousal which is still thrumming through his system. He feels betrayed by his own body and he wants to scream, to run, to burn his bedroom and all of the memories in it to the ground. He wants to burn his parents, to make them hurt for what they made him do. They have turned him into a monster.

Dorian falls onto his bruised knees, clutching at his chest as he takes gasping breaths that burn his airways. He can’t breathe. He feels a strong pair of hands grabs his shoulders trying to hold him in place. He tries to shake them off to no avail, only resulting in the hands grabbing him even tighter and he can feel bruises beginning to bloom under his skin. How did they get through his ward? He turns to face his intruder and is met by a the face of his father.

“Dorian,” his father says, shaking him sharply, his face twisted into a malicious grin. “This is just a dream Dorian wake up.”

Dorian whines as he tries to move out of the man’s grip but this just seems to fuel him, causing the man to laugh cruelly from deep within his throat. He is clearly relishing in his sons pain. “You will carry on the Pavus line Dorian.” He says, blood spilling from the tips of his fingers as he winds it around Dorian's body. Dorian closes his eyes repeatedly yelling “No! No! No! No!” as more images of the young girl bombard his eyelids. He continues to scream “No”  in an attempt to block out the sound of his father’s maniacal laughter. He reaches across the fade for his magic but finds a strong resistance and he lets out a loud cry of frustration and his father laughs even louder at his son’s failure.

“Why?” Dorian sobs, clawing at his face with his hands.

"You are no son of mine." The voice says, the words stinging like a slap across the face.

"Why?" Dorian repeats, trying to squirm free from his fathers vice like grip, "Why am I not enough for you?"

“Dorian, please!” A softer, more soothing voice breaks through. The laughter of his father slowly leaking away into the distance. "Dorian." The voice repeats, and Dorian finds himself drawn towards it. A pair of hands shakes him again and the laughter stops. Now all he can hear is the pounding of his own heart and the low soothing timbre of another man's voice as it continues to whisper his name.

“Shush now, it’s just a dream.” The voice says and Dorian feels a soft pair of lips press a delicate kiss on his forehead. Warmth spreads through his body as a wave of relief washes over him and he opens his eyes to see the familiar set of chocolate brown eyes that could only belong to one man. His Amatus, Enderan Trevelyan.

Dorian lurches forwards into the man's arms, letting a small groan of relief escape from his lips as he buries his head into the crook of the other man’s neck, letting the familiar scent of bonfire and pinewood wash over him. They sit like that in silence, Dorian slowing his breathing to match Enderan’s as he listens to the comforting thrum of his heart against his ear.

“That must have been quite some dream,” Enderan says after allowing a few minutes of comfortable silence as he runs a soothing hand through Dorian’s hair. Dorian nods against his chest, finding himself unusually lost for words. “You can tell me about it if you want,” He says. Dorian doesn’t respond. “You don’t have to, it just might help.”

Dorian pushes himself weakly off of Enderan’s chest and looks into his eyes, which are looking back at him with deep concern. He tries to communicate everything to him through that one look, tries to show Enderan how much he means to him, and how much he trusts him. He wants to tell the man about the dream but he can't. He wants this, whatever this is, to last just a little longer. You learn not to expect more and when someone finally admits they want more, you have to live with the fact that they will not want more when they find out the truth. I am a monster, Dorian thinks to himself.

"I don't deserve you." Dorian says quietly, his voice catching in the back of his throat, a moment of weakness which he has been brought up to hide. Conceal everything you feel for showing is weakness.

"What was the dream?" Enderan asks softly, his tone displaying his longing for Dorian to trust him.

“It was-“ Dorian’s voice catches in his throat again, curse these dreams, “Blood magic. My f-"  Enderan cuts him off by pulling him into a rib crushing bear hug, stroking the back of his head while making noises a mother would use to soothe her fussing child. It feels nice and Dorian relaxes into the hug. Maybe for a few moments he can forget that he doesn't deserve this, he's selfish like that.

“Dorian,” Enderan whispers softly, taking Dorian’s hands and kissing them both in turn. “You are here. You are safe, and it was just a dream. I won’t let anyone use blood magic on you. Ever.”

Dorian leans against Enderan and kisses him softly, “I know Amatus." He leans his head on the man’s chest and closes his eyes. If only he could believe that it was just a dream, Dorian thinks as guilt begins gnawing at the pit of his stomach again. He had admitted to Enderan of his father's plans to use blood magic but he was too ashamed to admit that the man had succeeded. He was even more ashamed that he wasn’t the only victim, the poor girl. After all, blood magic can hurt more than just those who it is used upon. It is the resort of a weak mind, he hears the echo of his father’s voice tell him as he drifts back into a dreamless sleep. If only the man had stuck to what he’d once believed.


	2. I'll take the Hinterlands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian and Enderan leave for the Hinterlands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I write stuff like this when I'm procrastinating (which is always), so it's not very edited very thoroughly. I apologise for what I guess is probably quite a few mistakes, I will eventually get around to editing all of my works but with deadlines looming it's bad enough that I'm writing these in the first place instead of my essays... oops.  
> Anyway, hope you enjoy :D  
> Again, take note of the trigger warnings for this story.

“The Hinterlands. Again?” Dorian says as he lays on the bed watching with a frown as the inquisitor attaches the buckles of his armour across his chest.

“Yes, the Hinterlands again,” Enderan replies with a small chuckle as he watches the mage roll his eyes in the reflection of the mirror. “Just be glad it’s not the fallow mire.” He says as he clips his dagger holsters to the plates at his shoulders before turning to face Dorian. “Because Leliana says that there are a group of scouts missing there and if I had time I should go and search for them. Good for my image apparently. She obviously doesn’t know how long it takes to wash that blasted corpse water from my hair.”

“Your hair?” Dorian snorts as he looks up at the inquisitors hair which is cropped so close to his head that if he cut it any closer to his head he would be bauld. “What about mine?”

“I was more talking about my beard,” The inquisitor says running his fingers through his beard while looking at his reflection in the mirror again. “Imagine having the stench of that water close to your nose for a week or so.”

“I don’t have to imagine,” Dorian says, emphasizing the point by twiddling the ends of his mustache.

Enderan scoffs, running his fingers through his thick beard,“You have less of it!”

“That may be true, but the important point is that if you choose the fallow mires then I am not coming, simple as that. I had to burn my favourite cape.” Dorian says airily as he fastens the buckles on his boots with more force than was necessary.

“Really?” Enderan says in mock surprise, “and here I was going to suggest that we take a romantic weekend trip to the abandoned houses by the large stretch of marsh.”

“Oh Amatus, you do know how to spoil a man.” Dorian purrs as he makes his way over to the inquisitor, making sure to put a slight sway in his step. “But I think I’d prefer to stay right here,” He says in a low whisper, snaking his arm around Enderan’s waist before pulling him in for a kiss. The inquisitor responds with a small groan and pulls him flush against him by grabbing the man by the collar, he presses Dorian against the nearby cabinet and deepens the kiss, tugging at his lower lip with his teeth.

“You’re right. Right here is good.” Enderan says breathing heavily.

He moves in to kiss Dorian again but is interrupted by a loud knock at the door followed by the warning voice of Cullen. The man had taken to yelling after knocking after the one time he had entered to deliver papers only to see a very naked inquisitor in a very compromising position tied to the bed post by some silk scarves.

Dorian sighs, not taking his hands from around Enderan’s waist, “don’t come in,” he calls over the Inquisitor’s shoulder, “I’m as naked as a new born.”

Enderan chuckles as he hears Cullen’s footsteps falter and he pinches Dorians side before releasing the man and walking over to the stairwell.

“He’s only joking Cullen, we’re fully clothed.”

“And fully erect,” Dorian whispers in his ear sending a shiver down Enderan’s spine. Enderan looks back at his lover and the man had certainly not been lying, the sight of the mans obvious arousal would probably give the poor, innocent commander a heart attack. Enderan quickly throws a cushion towards Dorian just as Cullen’s head appears at the top of the stairs.

“Inquisitor.” Cullen greets and his cheeks flush with colour as he looks towards Dorian who is making it very clear what he is trying to hide behind the cushion. “Is this a bad time. I can come back.” He stammers and Dorian bites his lip in an attempt to suppress his laughter.

“No, no. It’s fine, we were just getting ready to leave we just got a little distracted.” Enderan replies, taking the clipboard from Cullen who seems to be frozen to the spot. He flicks his eyes over the clipboard two or three times before nodding and handing it back. “Tell the healers that I will do my best to look for these herbs while I’m away.” He says in his inquisitorial voice which was not helping Dorian deal with his little situation in the slightest.

“Thankyou Inquisitor.” Cullen says, giving a small bow before practically sprinting from the room. As soon as Dorian hears the door below them close he collapses onto the bed in peals of laughter.

“What did you do to our poor, sweet, innocent, Commander.” Enderan says, turning to face Dorian with his arms folded across his chest. “I gave you the cushion so that we could prevent the man from having to blush in embarassment, but you just had to make it into a little show didn't you?”

Dorian lets out a loud roar of laughter, tears streaking down his face as he clutches his side. It takes a few more minutes for Dorian to stifle his fit of giggles and while he is waiting for him to finish, Enderan sets about packing for both himself and Dorian; he already knows what the mage takes with him on their trips out into the field. Dorian normally takes an age to pack so recently, since they started spending most of their time together, Enderan has taken to packing it for him, this way he can control how much hair product and soap is taken; it is impossible to argue with the man that four bars of soap is an excessive amount for a week-long trip to the Hinterlands.

“So,” Dorian says sitting at the end of the bed, watching the inquisitor move about the room. “With what could have been a delightful start to the morning ruined. What is our mission in the Hinterlands, other than collecting herbs and rocks that is?”

“There have been reports of a suspicious magical force field being sighted in a cave near the waterfall. Our scouts don’t recognise the magic and are worried that it may be a group of Venatori mages.” He replies, walking over to the bed to hand Dorian his pack.

“Oh?” Dorian says, suddenly interested in the idea of an unidentified type of magic. “Did they describe the field to you?”

“Nothing other than the fact that it was purple in colour and shocked anyone who came too close.”

“A shield that shocks people.” Dorian says with a snort, “that’s not exactly rare.” He then conjures up his own shield which sends a small jolt of electricity through Enderan. “See?” He says with a gloating smile.

“I didn’t ask for a demonstration you ass. Also, your shield is blue, not purple.” Enderan says, taking a swing at Dorian with his pack. “Now come on let’s go, I’d like to make it to the Hinterlands before nightfall.”

Dorian groans as the inquisitor pulls him up from the bed and hands him his pack. Dorian opens his pack and briefly rummages through it. “One bar of soap Amatus? What do you think I am? A barbarian?”

“Most people only carry one bar of soap.” Enderan replies with a small but fond smile.

“Yes, and have you smelt Blackwall?” Dorian says with a sniff, “Just shoot me dead on the spot if I ever smell like that.”

Enderan doesn’t try to argue with Dorian and lets the man rummage around in his bathroom for any spare bars of soap.

\--

After a little more faffing from Dorian, who was convinced that not only did he have to carry three bars of soap, but he also had to bring more than one comb on their trip, the group set off for the Hinterlands. Luckily thanks to a hassle free journey the group made it to their camp just as the sun was beginning to set and they had their tents up and ready by the time that Scout Harding arrived to give them their brief along with some very thorough directions to the cave in question.

The inquisitor had chosen to bring his best for dealing with possible Venatori mages. Cassandra, because of her history as a seeker, Cole because, well because he’s a spirit who has a talent for reading minds, and Dorian because, even though he would never admit it to the mage, he hated being apart from him for more than a few hours. The small group, along with a few of the inquisitions soldiers, sit around the fire eating their rations when a scout bursts into the clearing panting heavily.

“Inquisitor!” The scout shouts, his eyes searching the clearing for the man in question. The inquisitor stands quickly, already holding his daggers in his hands, he had been foolish to think that they would have a hassle free journey and first night. The scout spots him and rushes over to where the group is gathered. “Ser, we were scouting by the cave to try and find another way in when we were attacked.”

He hears Dorian whisper ‘typical’ beside him but chooses to ignore it. “Attacked by what?” Enderan asks in concern.

“Demons.” The scout says, still trying to catch their breath. “They came pouring out of the cave through the field, we managed to kill them and one of them dropped a scroll.”

“A scroll?” Enderan says confused, someone had attached a scroll to a demon? “What did it say?”

“You better take a look yourself Ser.” The scout says, fetching a scroll from his pocket and handing it to the inquisitor.

The inquisitor unravels it and the others sit and stand in silence as his eyes scan quickly over the page. Enderan's face remains unreadable as he continues to read and the rest of the group are becoming restless wanting to know what it contains. After about a minute Enderan turns to face Dorian with a look of confusion on his face.

“Dorian?” He questions, handing out the scroll for the mage to read. The mage looks back at him shocked and takes the scroll and begins to read.

_Dear inquisitor,_

_I would appreciate it if you and your men stopped trying to force their way into my cave, I have taken refuge here as it is no longer safe for me back home. If you continue trying to break in I will send more and more demons to attack your soldiers until there are no more for you to send. Trust that I have enough power to defend myself. I do not pose a threat to anyone, I am not here to attack your inquisition, I do not work for the group from Tevinter, I forget what they call themselves, I am simply trying to get by and escape a country where many want me dead.  I will ask one thing from you, hand this note to Altus Dorian Pavus of Minrathous and do not bother me again. This is my only warning._

Underneath the message written in common is a message written in Tevene and Dorian gasps in shock as the person in question asks for him, using his full title, something not many outside of the Tevinter nobility would know.

Dorian looks up at the inquisitor in confusion.

“I don’t-“ He starts, but the inquisitor interrupts him before he continues

“What does the other thing say?” He asks harshly, clenching and unclenching his jaw in his signature display of frustration. “It is written in Tevene I know that much.”

Dorian nods and looks at the passage at the bottom which reads:

_Dorian, your father was assassinated a few weeks after you fled and now I find myself without protection and under threat from both Tevinter nobility and Soporati. I have something which threatens them; I cannot tell you what but we need to meet in person. You may bring one other with you, but if the rumours are correct and you are intimate with the inquisitor, then I recommend you do not bring him._

_Yours,  
Sophia Nerinus_

Dorians blood freezes in his veins as he spots the name at the bottom of the page. Sophia Nerinus, as in the girl he left alone in his bedroom a few months ago. He feels bile rise in his stomach and he feels as if he is going to be sick. She can’t be here, the inquisitor can’t know of the monster he had been made to be.

Dorian has to lean his weight on his staff to prevent him from falling to the ground in shock. It normally takes a lot to faze him. But this… this is not something Dorian is used to having to deal with. Hiding men from his parents, taking abuse from his peers and taking abuse from others about him being from Tevinter, all of those he can deal with. But this? No. He wants to burn the letter and run back to Skyhold. Run back to where he can pretend that nothing happened all those months ago when his father had decided that he was going to break his lifelong belief that blood magic was bad.

 “Dorian?” Enderan asks in slight concern at the mages reaction, stepping towards the mage and gently removing the note from his slackened grip. “Care to translate?”

Dorian looks up at the inquisitor, trying to hide the fear, horror and guilt that has returned to claw at his insides, “No, I really don’t.”


	3. Chapter 3

Dorian flees to his tent as soon as the discussion about the next day’s actions had started, avoiding Enderan’s stern gaze as he does so. He seals the tent flap in place and quickly puts up a soundproof barrier before letting out every emotion that he had struggled to keep in check while reading the letter in one single, loud scream.

He can feel tears stinging the backs of his eyes, struggling to keep his breathing even as he paces back and forth in the tent like a caged Qunari. Why now? Why, when everything seemed fine and dandy for the first time in a long time, did his father once again have to take a massive shit on his life? Yes, the man was dead and that made him a little sad, they had had some good times in the past as father and son, like the time he had taught him to conjure his first fireball, or the time he had brought him along to the magesterium’s library. Unfortunately all of these positive memories have been completely eclipsed by his most recent memory. The cruel smile on the man’s face as he manipulates the power of blood, bending it under the will to make his son normal. Dorian was the scion of the Pavus household and to his father their family name was more important than his own son’s happiness, so forgive him for not falling to his knees and wailing like a grieving banshee.

Still, despite his shocking lack of grief for his father, his chest still feels a little hollow, like something broke away from his heart in the moment he was given the letter. Maybe it was grief on behalf of his mother; his parents hadn’t had the most loving relationship, but they were at least good friends or at least they pretended to be in front of Dorian. Or more likely his emptiness came upon reading who had written the note. His one true reminder of the monster he had been. Why was she here? What could she have that would make her so much of a target back in the magisterium? Unless you were a magister, women could not hold enough power that would paint them as a target in Tevinter.

He swallows back, feeling his heart beating his throat as the image of Enderan forces itself to the forefront of his mind. He would have to tell him. He was planning on never having to tell him, and having this secret buried at the back of the closet along with his numerous insecurities and doubts. But Dorian knows he won’t be able to hide the truth for much longer. Enderan is a persistant man who hates not knowing. Dorian would make a bet that Enderan was close to Leliana level of knowledge about his inner circle, except rather than digging behind their back using numerous contacts and liasons, Enderan would just walk straight up to them and ask. His direct nature is something that first drew him to the rogue, that and a few other things which were much more superficial. He could get anyone to open up and spill their deepest and darkest secrets, and this is what Dorian is worried about. Within a matter of moments, Enderan would walk into the tent and demand that he tell him what was going on, he would want to know who the woman was and how he knew her. He would want to know about every interaction Dorian had ever had with her, and Dorian knew he would tell him. But how could he tell him? How could he tell him the truth when he knew the look of horror and shame that would follow? Dorian feels tears begin to sting the back of his eyes, he hates admitting to himself what he had done, but he would have to accept it, he had raped her. His father may have been behind it, but it hadn’t been his fathers body who had forced itself upon the woman. It wasn’t his father who had the woman quivering naked in a corner. Before the night was up, Enderan would see Dorian for the monster he truly is, and Dorian will lose the love of yet another man he cares for.

“Dorian?” A soft voice calls from the entrance of the tents and Dorian gives a slightly delirious giggle as he turns to face the inquisitor. “Are you crying?” Dorian wipes at his eyes, not having realised that he had allowed tears to stream down his cheeks.

“I probably look quite horrific right now Amatus, you don’t want to see me like this.” Dorian says with a sigh, finally allowing himself to crumple onto his bedroll.

Enderan doesn’t say anything but quickly closes the distance between himself and Dorian and wraps the man into a crushing hug, stroking a hand soothingly across the back of his head.

“You could never look horrific my love.” He whispers, wiping a thumb across Dorian’s cheek as he catches another tear which had managed to escape. Dorian laughs weakly again, nudging the inquisitor in the ribs playfully before standing and pacing towards the entrance of the tent and he stops. Waiting for the question which he can sense on the end of Enderan’s tongue.

“What was in the letter?” Enderan says calmly, and there it is. The question that will end everything that the two of them have built over the last few months. “Dorian?” The man asks, his voice full of concern.

“I’m going to have to give you a little bit of back story if it is going to make sense.” Dorian says shaking his head.

“Then tell me the back story. Varric would be proud.” Enderan says lightly, but Dorian doesn’t react. He feels too hollow.

“If I tell you,” Dorian says solemnly, wiping his eyes to remove any remaining tears before turning to face the inquisitor, “then you must let me finish. I want you to hear everything before you label me as a monster.”

“Dorian-“

“Please.” He says, interrupting the man who had stood up from the bed in an attempt to approach Dorian, “you won’t want to be near me when you hear.”

“Okay.” Enderan says, his eyes seeking Dorian’s with a comforting warmth which Dorian felt he did not deserve. How did he ever think, even for a second, that he deserved this man?

Dorian turned away from Enderan again, not wanting to meet the man’s eyes as he told him everything. He began the story, not pausing for long between sentences as he was scared that the man would try to interrupt him, or worse, try to excuse him. He told him everything, easily recalling every detail as the memory was etched permanently into his nightmares. He told him all about the blood magic ritual, the way his father had stared at him, the way he had set himself upon the girl like an animal, ignoring her every scream and plea as pushed her into the mattress time and time again until eventually she became quiet and silent tears were the only indication that she was hurting.

After a while Dorian’s voice became hoarse with overuse but still he continued, his chest feeling heavier with every word. He told him about the next morning, the shameful feelings that still coursed through his veins as he watched the poor creature scrabbling against the wall like a trapped halla who had been cornered by a wyvern. By the time Dorian found himself coming to the end he felt emotionally drained, but he didn’t want to stop talking, because stopping talking meant dealing with Enderan’s reaction.

“And now she writes saying she my father has been assassinated and that she is in danger. She has something which threatens some people back in Tevinter apparently, and I don’t know what to do. How can I see a woman who I have done something like that to? Amatus, I don’t know what to do.” Dorian finishes his story and waits in the long silence that follows for his lover to say something. Anything!

After what seems to be hours but is likely only a few minutes, Dorian gives in and turns around to face Enderan and his heart sinks at the sight. The inquisitor is sat staring glassily at the ground with his arms leaning heavily against his knees. If it weren’t for the subtle breaths he was taking, Dorian would think he was frozen.

“I-“ The man says, his voice cracking, “your nightmares.” He supplies quietly, as if he has found a missing puzzle piece.

“Yes. The memory plagues me every night. I don’t know why the fade is so cruel, but every night without fail, I am forced to remember.” Dorian replies solemnly, relieved that the man hadn’t immediately fled from the tent.

“Your father cast blood magic on you.” Enderan says sadly, finally lifting his eyes from the floor and catches Dorians eyes with such an intense look of sympathy that Dorian feels a wave of relief wash through him. His relief is quickly replaced by frustration as he rounds on the inquisitor. He doesn’t deserve his sympathy.

“That’s what you are choosing to focus on!” Dorian spits, “I raped a woman! I brutalised her! I hurt her! I am a monster!” He shouts, thankful that he never took down the barrier around the tent.

“Dorian-“ Enderan says, reaching out a hand towards the mage.

“No.” Dorian says flinching away from the compassionate gesture. Why was Dorian the one flinching away from him, surely it should be the other way around?

“Dorian please.” Enderan says, ignoring the man’s defensive posture as he stands from their bedroll and holds the man in a tight hug. “This was not your fault. Your father cast blood magic on you, you had no control over yourself.” He mutters soothingly into Dorians hair.

Dorian tries to push away but Enderan tightens his grip, keeping the man firmly held against his chest.

“We will go and see the woman tomorrow, and I will be at your side the entire time. No one else has to know about what happened.” He continues.

Dorian pushes himself away from Enderan once more and the man gives in and lets Dorian slide from his grip.

“How can you be so calm about all of this?”

“Dorian it doesn’t take an idiot to see that this wasn’t your fault. You didn’t rape that woman,” He says, moving forward to grab Dorian roughly by the shoulders, “your father did.”

“Oh, you are glorious! You really like to believe the best in people don’t you?” Dorian says, looking at the man with harrowed disbelief.

“I am a good judge of character.” Enderan replies without a beat.

“Or just incredibly naïve?” Dorian says shaking his head.

“Okay maybe I am naïve.” Enderan admits, holding up his hands, “But can you honestly say that you had any ounce of control on that night?”

“I-“ Dorian says, suddenly lost for words.

“Is the mighty Altus finally lost for words?”

“Don’t be an arse.” Dorian replies, catching Enderan’s eye and immediately regretting it. The man had an incredible affinity for persuasion, almost magical and Dorian could feel himself believing Enderan’s words. It was true, the spell had surrounded him like a haze, blocking any form of self control and rational thought. It had also been his father who had cast the spell, and not just any spell. Blood magic. But blaming a dead man was the cowards way out.

“You have to believe me Dorian, I truly believe it was your father, and not you, who raped that woman.”

“I think I would remember if my father had been there during all of… that.” Dorian says quietly and Enderan lets out a soft chuckle as he takes hold of Dorian’s hands.

“Probably,” He whispers, “but he was in control of your body, so technically it was him.”

Dorian snorts and pulls his hand free and sits down on his bedroll and Enderan follows, sitting down quietly beside him.

Dorian’s mind is on the verge of bubbling over, why is Enderan so accepting? Enderan has a sister, two sisters! Yet not only does he not hate him, but he also doesn’t blame him. Dorian watches him out of the corner of his eyes as the man slowly unbuckles the clasps on his gauntlets filling the inside of the tent with the familiar green glow. Dorian feels a fond warm feeling build in his chest as the man turns to face him once again, reaching out for his hand again.

“You are one of the most amazing people I have ever met Dorian. Though you like to hide it behind this grand bravado,”

Dorian interrupts him with a loud scoff as he rolls his eyes and Enderan laughs, playfully pushing him.

“I’m trying to say something nice, so don’t be an arse.” He says before continuing “Anyway, as I was saying, you are kind and caring behind all of this bravado, and I know that it would take something incredibly powerful to force you to do something like that. You are strong, but you shouldn’t blame yourself for this.”

Dorian shifts awkwardly on the bedroll, quips and insults he can deal with but compliments? They are much harder for him to handle.

“You thought I would hate you?” Enderan says, his voice making it sound like a question when in reality he already knows the answer. He had seen it in Dorian’s eyes the moment he had stepped into the tent. “I don’t hate you. I’m a little Hurt, maybe. But that’s more because you never told me. I tried to convince you to forgive your father for maker’s sake. If I had known what he had done when we went to Redcliffe then, I don’t know, I probably would have given you permission to set him on fire or something.”

Dorian opens his mouth to make a witty retort but comes up short and closes his mouth again like a clueless goldfish before sighing loudly and dropping his head into his hands. He had hated seeing his father again, that was true, but he had needed that meeting more than he thought he did. He doesn’t know why, but deep down he still loves his father, he’s not upset that he is dead, but he still loves him.

“I’m sorry about your father by the way.” He says softly and Dorian is unsuprised by the mans ability to read his mind, he’s used to it by now. The two sit in companionable silence for a few minutes, Enderan holding firmly onto Dorian’s hand and giving it a comforting squeeze every now and again as they listen to the soft chatter of their travel group who continue to eat dinner and make plans completely unaware.

“Ser!” A voice sounds from outside the tent and Enderan replies signalling for the soldier to enter. There is a pause, and the voice sounds again, this time a little louder. Enderan shouts back to enter, a little frustrated that the soldier hadn’t heard him the first time. Dorian sits up, suddenly remembering that he has put up a spell of silence around the tent.

“Is he deaf!” Enderan says in an annoyed tone as he gets up from the bedroll and heads towards the entrance of their tent.

“Don’t kill the poor man, I put up some sound barriers around our tent.” Dorian says just before he opens the flap of the tent to face a very surprised looking soldier who is nervously clutching at a clipboard.

“Sorry about that.” Enderan says in a light tone which quickly hid the look of anger he had met the poor soldier with, “My companion only just informed me that he had cast a spell of silence around our tent.” The soldier doesn’t reply but swallows nervously and blinks gormlessly at the inquisitor.

“Well?” Enderan demands, beginning to get impatient. Dorian needed him right now, whatever this soldier wanted, surely it could wait.

“I-“ The soldier says, his face screwing up in confusion as if he is trying to recall a memory, “I don’t know why, but I came here to tell you that he has gone to try and help.”

Enderan looks at the soldier in mild confusion. “Who has gone to try and help?”

The soldier holds his hand up to his head, “I don’t know. I just had to tell you for some reason. I’m sorry for wasting your time.” The soldier says before making a speedy retreat towards his friends who are still gathered around the campfire.

Dorian watches as Enderan walks away from the doorway of the tent.

“More provisions? What do we have to collect this time? Fennec fur? Bear hide? Dragon scales? Corypheus’ fingernails?” Dorian asks noting the grim look on Enderan’s face.

“No.” He says and Dorian feels panic spike in his chest as he sees concern flash over Enderan’s face.

“Then what is it?” He asks, his heart beginning to pound.

“Cole has gone to go and see her.” He says.

Dorian stands up from the bedroll as if the bed has shocked him and quickly grabs his staff and throws Enderan his leather braces which strap his daggers to his back.

“Vishante Kaffas! Then we go to the cave now before he reports back to the entirety of our entourage.” Dorian says, ignoring the panic which he can feel clawing into his chest.

“Dorian.” Enderan says, blocking him from exiting the tent. “You don’t have to go. I can handle it and report back to you later.”

“Amatus, as much as I don’t want to reopen this can of worms, she asked for me personally. She used my entire title, that’s code in Tevinter for you better turn up or else.” He says moving past Enderan, quickly grabbing his spell book and strapping it to his belt before exiting the tent.

“And can I come with you?” Enderan says, following him out of the tent.

“Even if I said no you would follow me anyway.” Dorian says lightly as he tosses Enderan his pack which hadn’t yet been unpacked and the two of them head out of the camp without bothering to alert the rest of their group.

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

They walk in silence, guided only by a vague map of the Hinterlands which is scrawled haphazardly onto a scrap of paper. A small wisp of mage fire floats a few feet in front of them. The sun had, dipped behind the horizon about half an hour ago and the last remnants of daylight quickly followed so now they are being led blindly apart with only the small light amount of light from the wisp which bathes the normally scenic rolling hills of the hinterlands in an eerie green. The stars are out in full force, and, other than the odd distant snap of a twig from a wandering ram and thundering of a nearby waterfall, the night was beautifully serene; some would even consider it romantic, and Dorian might too if it weren’t for the feeling of panic which seems to have made its home in his chest.

“According to the map we should be approaching the cave soon.” Enderan says, breaking the silence as he holds the map out to Dorian. Dorian nods silently in response, squinting through the dark in an attempt to locate the cave from the among the series of dark indistinguishable blobs on the horizon.

“Look Dorian, surely if Cole is with her it might make all of this a little bit easier. As ridiculous as it sounds, having someone who can read thoughts and emotions may be g-“

“No Enderan,” Dorian interrupts a little bit more sharply than he had intended, “the last thing I want to hear is how much pain I have caused.”

“Dorian it wasn’t you w-“

“Maybe not,” he says, this time stopping in his tracks and rounding on Enderan, “but mine is most likely the face that haunts her nightmares, not my fathers. What if seeing my face triggers her? Sends her into a crazy fit of horror and I have to listen as that spirit spews her painful internal monologue. Please Enderan, tell me how having Cole present is a good thing?” Dorian can feel tears stinging the back of his eyes, but he can’t cry. A Pavus should not cry.

Enderan stands back, not knowing how to respond and the wisp of mage fire begins to flicker a little, “Dorian I –“

“Cold, trapped, like a bird with a broken wing she flutters, restless and helpless. Feet off the ground she takes a step forwards only for the wind to blow her off course. Flutters, fluttering beneath the skin. Why won’t it stop?” The soft young tones of their resident spirit cut through the tension like a dagger. The wisp flickers and extinguishes itself as the two men yelp in fright as the boy appears in front of them and they are plummeted into darkness. Dorian quickly casts a fireball, letting it hover above his palm as he holds it out in front of him. Cole steps into the light and watches him carefully, his head cocked to the side as his pale eyes scrutinise their faces. Dorian feels a chill run down his spine, almost as if he can physically feel the spirit sifting through his darkest thoughts and feelings but he makes an attempt not to show his discomfort. He knows Cole means well but sometimes he wishes that he wouldn’t try and help him. He’d already tried once before. Yes, Dorian had given him permission to ask questions, but this was because the boy fascinated him and he wanted to try and work out how the spirit worked. What he hadn’t expected was for the spirit to dig so deep so quickly. He had been straight to the point, digging out his deepest pain and laying it on the ground in front of him like a dying bird in an attempt to save its life.

 _"But it hurts,"_ Dorian can practically hear the memory as if it were happening right now, " _I want to help, but its all tangled with the love, I can't tug it loose without tearing it. You hold him so tightly. You let it keep hurting because you think hurting is who you are. Why would you do that?"_ It's ironic really how Cole's words have only grown in how true they are. Even within death he can't seem to let his father go. He can't forgive him for what he has done but at the same time he can't bring himself to hate him. Not with his whole being anyway.

“There’s so much hurt,” Cole continues, his voice almost a whimper as he tries to move closer to Dorian but is stopped by Enderan who places a firm hand on the boy’s shoulder, “Strings pull and stretch but never snap. Pulling, tugging, limbs aren’t supposed to bend that way.”

“Why are you here Cole? Why aren’t you back at the camp with the others?” Enderan says interrupting the boys confusing spiel.

“So much hurt, it was like a beacon. Loud yet muffled, something else pressing down, constricting, constraining, silencing the hurt but not stopping it.”

“Are you talking about Sophia?” Dorian asks, already knowing the answer.

“Yes! Sophia.” Cole says in excitement. He turns his head to the side again, “But you’re hurting too Dorian. Invisible strings and a shattered mirror. Light scattering in all directions as the darkness presses in. But it’s all so jumbled together. I can’t make sense of the hurt. You and her. It’s so tied together, like a ball of twine. But I can’t find the end. She’s hurting Dorian.”

“Yes Cole. I know.” Dorian says, hating that he can’t stop his voice from wobbling as his chest begins to constrict. It’s getting difficult to breathe and the fire in his palm begins to flicker precariously. Last time he had been weak and asked Enderan to silence Cole. Not this time.

“Do you know where she is Cole?” Enderan says not taking his eyes from Dorian who, even in the light of the flame, looks as pale as a sheet.

“Cold, damp, dark, safe.” Cole replies in his usual cryptic manner.

“Do you know **where** she is?” Enderan repeats, slowly this time.

“Yes! I can take you to her.” The spirit says eagerly as he sets off ahead of them, not waiting to see if they will follow.

Enderan moves after Cole, giving a brief glance behind to Dorian who nods once before following. If Cole was leading them, at least he couldn’t pry any further.

It is the shield they spot first, a gentle purple shimmer in the distance that catches, magic sparking from it every step they take. As they get closer the black silhouette of the horizon breaks off into a large gaping mouth of a cave. There is no doubt about it, this is where they have been looking for. The cave entrance is small, but the fact that the path is swallowed in it’s inky black depths suggests that the size of the entrance is deceptive. Cole stops in front of the shield and turns around to wait for them.

“She’s in here and awake. I can feel her.” He says, his body seeming to twitch with anticipation.

Enderan and Dorian stop beside Cole, and Dorian holds a tentative hand out towards the barrier. The magic responds, a small flicker of purple energy reaching out to touch the centre of his palm and Dorian hisses, removing his hand as if he had been shocked.

“Can you get through the barrier Cole?” Enderan asks; the spirit nods and before they can even blink he is gone.

The two stand alone in silence with only the gentle buzz of nature and Enderan grasps Dorian by the hand and squeezes it. Dorian doesn’t look at Enderan but carries on staring at the barrier, his eyebrows furrowed in deep thought.

“Amatus, if what we see in there is bad and I trigger some sort of reaction in her, I want you to take her back to Skyhold and care for her. I will pack my things and be gone within a day if needs be.” Dorian says quietly, a subtle pain visible in the depths of his eyes.

“No.” Enderan says with a small growl, “I will take her back to Skyhold, but I will not let you leave.”

Enderan feels Dorian shakes beneath his grip and he pulls him into a tight hug. Dorian responds by wrapping his arms around him, his fingers gripping onto his back like a man hanging from a cliff.

“Even if it was not my fault -”

“It wasn’t.” Enderan interrupts firmly.

“Be that as it may, if it were your sister that it had happened to, would you allow a man like myself to live in the same fortress as her?” Dorian asks.

“If I found out that the man was as much of a victim as my sister. Yes.” Dorian snorts in disbelief and Enderan holds him firmly by the shoulders so that he can look him in the eye. “Skyhold is your home Dorian. You belong there as much as I do, I will never kick you out.”

“I was not suggesting that you would. I will take my own leave, return to Tevinter, and accept any punishment that my mother sees fit. You never know, I may even be granted a seat in the magisterium. Unlikely, as my father has most likely denounced me as his son since our little meeting. I am a selfish man Enderan, but not selfish enough to inflict my presence upon someone whom I have traumatized.” Dorian replies and Enderan sighs in exasperation, sometimes this man was too stubborn for his own good.

“You are not leaving and that is an order.” He says, trying to use his best inquisitor voice. Dorian smiles, the inquisitor voice will never work on him anywhere but the bedroom.

“You are a crazy man.” He replies and Enderan smiles slightly as he recognises the playful tone that he had already grown to miss, despite the fact that it had only been a few hours since they had been openly exchanging quips and jibes.

A loud crack interrupts them and both men break apart and watch as the barrier explodes outwards, small threads of purple magic streaming outwards before disintegrating into the night sky.

“Well,” Enderan says, taking a tentative step forwards to an area which the barrier used to block, “it seems she has answered the door.”

“How polite of her.” Dorian says lightly, his fearful tone not quite carrying the humour that he had intended.

“She doesn’t remember me.” Cole says from behind them and both Enderan and Dorian curse, Endera spinning round with his daggers instinctively drawn. It’s almost embarrassing that the spirit still manages to startle him like that. “I made her forget. But she knows you are coming. Images flash, teeth, blood and pain, cold stone tiles as wood splinters between her toes. How long until he finds me?”

“Cole.” Enderan says firmly and Cole stops, his eyes looking between Enderan and Dorian, whose entire posture has stooped upon hearing Cole’s words.

“I’ve caused more hurt.” He says in panic, his fingers moving frantically as he habitually winds his fingers together.

“Thank you so much for your help Cole.” Enderan says in a clear dismissal and the spirit looks back at him in a mixture of panic and sadness.

“She’s hurting, Dorian’s hurting. I need to help heal the hurt.”

“Later Cole,” Enderan says softly “for now you can head back to camp and talk to one of our recruits. He lost his mother a few weeks ago, you’ll be able to help him.” Cole doesn’t move, his eyes flicking between Enderan, Dorian and the cave. He looks reluctant, his bright eyes watching them carefully. “Please Cole.” Cole nods silently, casting one more final look towards the cave before disappearing.

Enderan takes a deep breath and turns towards the mouth of the cave. There is a cold breeze coming from inside, bringing with it the musty smell of deep mushroom and damp and, holding his dagger out in front of him, he leads the two of them inside.

As they take their first step into the cave, Dorian ignites another wisp, bathing the cave in an eerie green glow which catches on the moisture of the walls. The cave is wider than expected, the pathway winding upwards rather than down and as they get in a little deeper they are met by the familiar pale glow of deep mushrooms. Enderan stoops down, picking up a few and putting them into the storage compartment of his pack, no doubt someone would need some back at Skyhold.

They continue forward like this for several drawn out minutes, listening intently for any sign of life. So far there is nothing but the odd sound of scurrying animals and the loud echoing of their own footsteps. The cave continues, the pathway twisting and turning in a continuous upwards climb as the path gets narrower and narrower and the ceiling above their heads becomes lower and lower until Enderan is having to stoop at the neck to carry on. They turn a final corner and there, just as the path seems to get too narrow to continue, there is the distinctive orangey glow which can only mean one thing. A camp fire.

“Well,” Dorian says tightly, “That must be her.”

Enderan nods, removing his other dagger from its sheath before continuing forwards. Dorian does the same with his staff, his wisp glowing brighter the closer they get the the small entrance to the cavern ahead.

“It’s going to be okay.” Enderan assures Dorian as they begin their slow approach.

“Well, I’m most likely about to curse us, but nothing can be worse than all of the scenarios I have been cooking up during the last hour.” Dorian replies in a whisper.

Enderan groans, “You’re right. You probably have just cursed us.”

"Well, at least there are no demons." Dorian says optimistically as he psyches himself up for taking the first step into what he was almost 100% sure would be a living nightmare of a situation.

"Doubly cursed. Thanks Dorian." Enderan mutters as he leads them both through the small doorway and into the firelit cavern.


	5. Chapter 5

The cavern was small and warm, the large crackling fire in the centre bathing it in a comforting orange glow. Clothes were hung on makeshift drying racks by the fire and a small stream runs through the corner, flowing down over the wall of the cave in a miniature waterfall and filtering out through several gaps in the rocky wall. Both men wander into the middle, their eyes scanning the floor for any sign of human life.

“I didn’t expect you to be here just quite yet Dorian.” A feminine voice says loudly, echoing around the cavern making it difficult to locate its source. “I expected to have to wait another day at least. Your inquisition is quite efficient.”

Dorian holds his staff out in front of him, suddenly aware at how easily this could be a trap. His eyes scan the numerous shadowy corners of the cave, plenty of places for soldiers or assassins to hide and wait for the perfect moment to strike. Maybe this was his father’s trap, the man was clearly desperate to have him back onside, that was shown through his desperate attempt in Redcliffe to try and smooth the ground between them. Telling his own son that he was dead, a horrible but certainly clever ruse, and then luring him into a dead ended cave so that he could drag his son, kicking and screaming, back to Tevinter. If someone had asked him a few years ago if his father would do such a thing to him, he would have scoffed and called them foolish, of course this was before the whole blood magic and mind control malarkey.

“Enderan, I believe we may have made a mistake in coming here without back up.” Dorian whispers quietly. Enderan nods, his face barely masking his fear. What have they walked themselves into? Dorian readies a spell on the tip of his tongue as he holds his staff out in front of him and Enderan flanks his back with his daggers aloft as the two of them circle the fire.

“Please put the weapons away.” The woman says and if Dorian isn’t mistaken, her voice trembled a little with fear. Both men tense in response as the sound of footsteps echo around the cavern. “I am alone therefore I am no threat to you.” He feels Enderan shift behind him but neither of them sheathe their weapons as the footsteps get closer.

“Dorian.” Enderan says, elbowing him sharply in the ribs. Dorian turns, about to scold the man for his violent means at gaining his attention, but he stops, his eyes catching on the figure of a woman on the other side of the fire. Her silhouette is haggard, her posture slumped over and sluggish as she approaches them. Dorian holds his breath, his eyes taking in her torn loose clothing and long hair, which is matted and knotty and hangs to almost her waist. She looks past Enderan towards Dorian, her eyes wide and afraid, glistening with unshed tears. She really is alone. There is no way that a woman sent by his father and accompanied by soldiers or assassins, would look so much like she had been living in the sewers of Tevinter for months.

“Sophia,” Dorian says weakly, “don’t you look quite a sight.”

She stops a few feet in front of them, clutching a large, rune encrusted spell book to her chest. Enderan remains in front of Dorian, he has lowered his daggers to his sides but his fingers run along their hilts nervously, ready to spring at any sign of danger.

“You look – different.” She says after a long pause, her eyes purposefully avoiding his face.

“Likewise.” He murmurs, noting how the shadows caused by the flickering light of the fire emphasise the hollows of her cheeks. She looks practically gaunt.

Enderan shifts uncomfortably in the silence that follows and Dorian goes to move around him but he is stopped by a solid arm across his shoulders.

“Why did you ask for Dorian to come and see you? What is it that is making you such a target back home in Tevinter?” He asks commandingly and Dorian smirks, it really was an unnecessary show. Anyone with eyes could see that he was dangerous, he didn’t need to put on a voice to command attention and make others tremble before him. Then again he can’t say that he doesn’t enjoy it a little when he uses it. Especially in the bedroom.

 Sophia takes a step backwards, clutching the book protectively. “I-“ She starts but closes her mouth, her lower lip beginning to tremble. If this was all an act and they really were about to be ambushed, then Dorian really had to commend the woman for her superior acting skills. “If you don’t mind Lord Pavus, I need to speak to you alone.” She says meekly and, despite the fact that she is directly addressing him, she still can’t meet his eyes.

“I’m afraid that I am not going anywhere.” Enderan says, his harsh tone surprising Dorian. Normally he would have softened a little, especially in the face of someone who evidently in distress, but he clearly doesn’t trust her. Something is definitely wrong here, but it isn’t what they had expected. There are no soldiers or assassins to be found, no demon army either but of course that is nothing to complain about. Despite the surprise lack of immediate danger, something in Dorian’s gut tells him that something is not quite right.

“Please.” She says, ignoring Enderan’s command and motioning for Dorian to step away. Dorian meets Enderan’s eyes and silently begs for him to step aside. It was only one woman, and by the looks of her, she hardly had the energy to defend herself to her full potential.

“It’s okay Enderan.” Dorian says, pushing past him. Enderan sighs, obviously reluctant to let him go, and after being prompted by another look from Dorian he walks away to stand guard by the entrance to the cavern.

“Sophia.” Dorian says with a nod as the woman gestures for him to sit down by fire. He obeys, glad for the warmth as the flames flicker calmingly by his side. He looks up at her cautiously, “Not going to sit?” He asks gesturing with one hand towards a spot vacant by his other side.

“I-“ She pauses, taking a deep breath as if to calm herself. “I thought you would need to be sitting.” She says quietly, her voice shaking with nerves. Dorian furrows his brow in confusion as he looks her up and down, she is still hugging the large spell book to her chest, and she is in desperate need of a wash, but other than that she seemed fine, so what is it that is causing her to have such trouble in speaking her mind? Maybe what she has to tell him regards his father. Had she lied about his death just to get him here?

“Is it true about my father?” Dorian says, interrupting anything else she might be about to say. She looks at him, a flash of pain going across her face before she nods meekly.

“He was assassinated a week or two after you left.”

“Who by?” Dorian asks, his voice surprisingly steady.

“Nobody knows.” Of course nobody would know, Dorian thinks to himself, magisters and assassins don’t tend to flaunt that they have successfully eliminated somebody, and it wasn’t like they could use the power of deduction to identify the culprit because his father, like pretty much any member of the Magisterium, had many people who gladly see him carried away in a coffin. Becoming a Magister was practically a formal way of signing away a life of security. Still he hadn’t thought it would happen to his own father. Out of all of the Magisters in the Magisterium, his father was well regarded but not so much that he was targeted for his influence, and nice but not too nice that he would be regarded as weak and therefore easily targeted.

“Fair enough,” Dorian replies dismissively, “well then my dear, why have you left our troubled little homeland? We can turn this into a ‘what element of Tevinter society made us leave’ discussion. Have a good old slander session.” He feels ashamed at making light of the situation, but it is the only way he knows how to respond, and it is certainly better than getting straight to the point and reopening old, blood magic tainted wounds.

“Lord Pavus.” She says in a low and serious voice.

“For me personally, it was the incessant backstabbing and betrayal from those who I thought I could rely on. Who I may have even respected.”

“Lord Pavus.” She repeats as he continues to blabber nervously.

“Or maybe it was the incessant power struggles and desire to mould everyone into something acceptable. I’m not, nor will I ever be a man who fits into the mould which our lovely homeland has created.

“Dorian.” She says again slightly impatiently.

“Or maybe it’s because I didn’t want to deprive the Southern masses of my beauty, it certainly is depressing down here, they need something to liven their spirits. Now that I think of it, there are certainly elements of Tevinter high society that I long for, like the cleanliness, the warmth and the lack of wet dog smell. Have you noticed the wet dog smell? It is absolutely unbearable. Maybe we can introduce a little of Tevinter society to these barbarians, a little more soap can never hurt anyone.”

“Dorian shut up!” He hears Enderan call from by the door and he obeys, risking a glance up at Sophia who is looking up at the ceiling intensely as she tries to fight back tears.

“It’s not Tevinter that is the problem. Well, it is – but that’s not why I needed to talk to you.” She says, turning her back on him as she uses one of her hands to wipe away any stray tears which may have escaped. Of course she didn’t want him to see her cry, growing up in Tevinter taught you never to cry in front of anyone. In fact growing up in Tevinter taught you never to cry.

He moves to stand up in an attempt to comfort her but she flinches away reminding him of that one morning all over again. “Sophia-“ He says holding his hands out in front of him, mirroring the way he had approached her a few months ago.

She moves away from him instinctively.

“Sophia. I am truly sorry for all the pain I have caused you. If there were any way that I could stop what happened that night, I would do whatever it takes. I was weak. I should have been able to fight it, it’s not fair that you were made to suffer for something which was entirely my own fault. I was a coward to flee Tevinter when you were likely in more pain than myself. I was a selfish coward and I-“

“I’m with child Dorian.” She blurts out, her whole frame freezing instinctively, preparing for any form of rebuttal, physical or verbal.

“Holy Makers ball sack, what did she just say?” He hears Enderan shout as he runs around the fire to where they are standing, but Dorian doesn’t reply. In fact Dorian doesn’t respond in any shape or form, he simply falls back into his spot by the fire, his eyes staring blankly ahead as her words repeat over and over in his head. She’s with child? She can’t be. How? Well of course he knows how, but, it can’t be true. A shiver of disgust runs through him. Fasta vass, she can’t be!

“Please don’t jest with me.” He says weakly, his eyes flicking up to Sophia. She doesn’t meet his eyes but lowers the book she has been holding against her chest, and with that obstacle out of the way, her condition becomes obvious. Despite the baggy nature of her dress, there is a very visible swell of her abdomen and she holds a hand over it instinctively. Just like an expectant mother would.

“Kaffas!” Dorian curses, running his hands over his face as he tries to let it all sink in. Of all the scenarios he had imagined might play out before they entered the cave, this had not been on the list. In fact it had not even been considered to be put on the list. Or even been considered to be considered to be put on the list. Now he’s not even making sense to himself. To put it simply, out of all the scenarios that he thought might play out, this was certainly not the worst, but it was far from the best and was definitely the most unexpected.

“Dorian. She’s – I mean – she’s.” Enderan says, stumbling over his words as he stares at the two of them in shock. “Dorian, look at her. I mean – just – she’s actually telling the truth!” He yells running his hands through his hair frantically. If Dorian wasn’t so shocked he would probably make some snide comment about how you would think that Enderan is the expectant father rather than himself. Instead he simply watches as Enderan moves forwards to stand in front of Sophia and takes a comforting hold of her hand, smiling when she doesn’t flinch away. “You are with child?” He asks gently and she nods in reply, “and that is why you came here? You left Tevinter because you knew someone would try and kill you if they found out you were carrying the Pavus heir?” He asks and she nods again. “You don’t have to worry anymore, the inquisition will protect both you and your child. I promise.”  

She looks over to Dorian who swallows thickly before nodding. He had already suspected that Sophia would be returning to Skyfall with them, he just expected that it would be her, and her alone. He certainly didn’t expect her to have an extra passenger.

“Thank you.” She says, her tone full of gratitude as she almost pulls Enderan to the floor in an enthusiastic hug. “Thank you so much.”

“If you don’t me asking, how far along are you?” Enderan asks quietly and she recoils and stares at him silently. “You don’t have to reply.” He assures her, giving her arm a gentle squeeze.

“Coming up to 6 months.” Dorian replies numbly. It had been 6 months since he left his home and fled to Fereldan yet for some reason it feels like less. The memories were still too fresh in his mind, so he can’t even imagine how Sophia feels. He at least had the benefit of blood magic clouding some of his memories.

“Cole!” Enderan calls out as she steps away and begins to help her pack up her things.

“Inquisitor!” The boy spirit says brightly as he appears in front of them too quickly, almost as if he had been lurking in the shadows watching, which was probably exactly what he had been doing.

His eyes run restlessly from person to person and he winces visibly as his eyes settle on Dorian. _Don’t say anything!_ Dorian screams in his mind as he locks eyes with him, praying for once that the spirit can hear him. He still hasn’t worked out how this whole mind reading thing of Cole’s works, is it even mind reading or is it just a special form of telepathic empathy? Either way, he is begging the spirit in any way he can to stay quiet and, luckily, Cole does and instead turns his attention to Enderan who is giving him instructions so that they can prepare their journey back to Skyhold.

“And of course we have to arrange for specialist healers to be brought to Skyhold. I don’t think we have any who specialise in this type of care.” Enderan continues, pacing the cave as he makes plans. “Tell Josephine to get in contact with a few spirit healers from Val Royeaux, they have a spirit healer clinic there which specialises in –“

“No! No spirit healers!” Sophia cries out in panic her voice taking on a double edge as she looks at Enderan with wide eyes.

“Seeking, detecting, probing, too much power, revealing everything, don’t let them near me.” Cole says, echoing her inner monologue and she turns to him in shock.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Help,” Cole answers before turning back to Enderan, “It is worried about what they will reveal.”

“I’m sorry Sophia, we will not use spirit healers if it makes you uncomfortable.” Enderan says diplomatically and she visibly relaxes.

Dorian watches the young woman puzzled, what was she expecting them to reveal? Was she scared she was carrying some sort of abomination in her womb? Then again with the blood magic involved, was that possible? The child would have magic, that is certain. Well at least it is certain if the child is actually his. How does he know that she didn’t sleep with someone else since then, it was just one night after all? Dorian shakes himself free of that train of thought feeling slightly ashamed in himself. If he had been in that woman’s position, he would probably never want to have sex again let alone the same week. But the child would be a mage and it was conceived under the influence of blood magic, surely all sort of demons and spirits were lurking at the moment of its conception. Dorian shudders at the thought, his chest tight as he remembers moments from that night.

_Nails running over her skin, leaving small trails of blood down her back and over her bare breasts. He runs his mouth over her neck, biting the delicate skin until she cries out in pain and she silences her by claiming her mouth, holding her in place against the headboard as she starts to struggle._

“I don’t understand, Dorian.” Coles voice interrupts his flashback.

“Don’t try to Cole.” Dorian says, his chest feeling a little tight and all of a sudden the cavern feels small, too small. “My apologies.” Dorian says, quickly, “I am in desperate need of some fresh air. Excuse me.” He says, pushing past Enderan as he makes for the exit of the cavern. He half walks, half runs down the path, flicking his wrist to send a couple of wisps ahead of him. He bursts out into the open air and takes deep gasping breaths, steadying himself by leaning heavily on the wall of the cave. His father is damn lucky that he is already dead, because if he wasn’t then Dorian would hunt him down and kill him with his own two hands. His weak mind has ruined not just two people’s lives, but now also a third.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love some feedback on this fic because at the minute I am not too confident in it. I want to continue it because of my new years revolution to finish things I've started, and I have the fic plotted out, but I keep going back to previous chapters and editing and re-editing them. I am just never happy with the quality of writing with this fic for some reason. :/


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